the coldest end
by airbefore
Summary: It doesn't hurt as much now.
1. Chapter 1

_The hottest love has the coldest end._

_~Socrates_

The invitation had been unexpected. With surprisingly steady hands, he'd pried it open, tugging at the heat softened glue in the middle of his driveway, unable to wait the two minutes it would take to get back into the house and locate the letter opener. He needed to see it. Needed to hold the proof in his hands.

He'd thought it'd be more ostentatious, something befitting her future husband's station, but was almost glad to find a simple sheet of heavy cardstock sparsely decorated with elegant calligraphy, each letter of her name swirled and soft in a way that made his chest seize, the graceful lines twisting around his heart in a noose.

The idea that he would receive an invitation had crossed his mind on more than a few occasions in the preceding months but he'd dismissed the thought each time. After everything, the heartbreak and the fights and the pain, he couldn't imagine that she would want him to come. That she would want him present as she promised forever to another man.

He still isn't certain she does want him there. Has never been able to work out if the invitation was sincere or just an attempt to meet some sort of twisted societal obligation. The RSVP card rests on the corner of his desk where he'd dropped the day it arrived, the cream slowly turning yellow from sun exposure. He never sent it, hadn't decided on his attendance until the day before.

As painful as he knows it will be, he needs to bear witness to this. Needs to see her smiling and radiant, needs to reaffirm for himself that this is what she wants, what will make her happy. Because that's what _he_ wants. What he's always wanted. Her happiness, lasting and true. But he can't deny wishing she'd been able to find it with him. That they'd been able to find it together.

Three years.

Three years since she pressed the ring into his palm, tears in her eyes and a hitch in her voice. Three years since they went through the motions; separating his things from hers, collecting the various pieces of themselves they'd scattered through each other's homes. Each other's lives.

They'd been civil in the end, the enmity having long given way to a sad resignation. Neither of them had the energy to be angry anymore. Or the desire. They were past the point of being able to fight for it, to save it, and all that was left was the systematic dismantling of their life together.

He picked up his stuff from her apartment in DC on a Tuesday, rain pattering softly against the window as he packed away his clothes and books and toiletries, trying to have it done, to be gone, before she got home from work. The rip of the packing tape masked the sound of her key scraping into the lock and suddenly there she was, hair in a neat bun at the base of her skull, the gun holstered on her hip pressing out against her blazer in that way he'd always found incredibly sexy. It was the first time he'd seen her in a month.

It was the last time he saw her for six.

Lanie came to pick up her things from the loft a week later, her eyes full of too much compassion as she watched him load the boxes into the back of Esposito's SUV. He accepted her hug after he closed the door on the last box, the keys to his Ferrari cutting into his palm as he tried not to hear the pity in her voice when she told him to keep in touch. The Hamptons house became his permanent residence the next day.

It got easier with time, the searing pain fading to a dull ache as the months passed. He spent time with his daughter and his writing, went for long meandering walks on the beach, attended parties and played poker with the boys.

He learned to live without her.

Eventually, he caved and allowed his mother to start setting him up. The women were always lovely, bright smiles and warm eyes, but it never went far. A couple of dates and then he'd graciously bow out, apologies on his lips and a twinge in his chest. He let her go; let them go. But he still can't open his heart. Not yet.

They'd said they would remain friends, as impossible as they both knew that to be. He saw her on occasion; the christening for Ryan and Jenny's baby, Karpowski's retirement party, the hastily thrown together reception after Lanie and Esposito eloped. They never spoke to each other for long, their interactions mostly limited to hellos and polite inquiries about their families.

She'd sent her regrets when Alexis graduated, wasn't able to get away from DC for the launch party for the final Nikki Heat installment. He sent her a copy of the book, the dedication page blank.

She called him after Vaughn proposed.

He'd found out they were dating when a picture of them, holding hands and kissing outside his office, showed up on the internet under speculative headlines about the identity of the mysterious brunette and how she had managed to capture Eric Vaughn's heart. After the shock wore off and the pain subsided, he'd realized the article was posing a question whose answer was obvious. How had the captured Vaughn's heart?

What man wouldn't willingly surrender his heart to Kate Beckett.

And now here he sits, tucked into the far back corner of a pew, hands fisted in his lap and tie cutting into his neck while he watches her stand at the front of a packed church, Lanie at her side and one of the purest smiles he's ever seen painted across her lips. She's a beautiful bride, infinitely more gorgeous than in any of the fantasies he used to have about this day.

No.

Not this day.

Their day.

The ceremony doesn't last long. A reading from her father, a moment to honor her mother, vows, a prayer and then it's over. He watches her laugh as she kisses her new husband, can just make out the sound over the applause from the congregation. Closing his eyes, he lets it seep into his skin, a healing balm for his scarred heart.

He slips out through a side door before they start down the aisle, not wanting to be seen. It was selfish of him to come. Selfish to seek his closure on a day that should be a celebration of the love she shares with her husband, not a wake for the love she once shared with him. The door glides closed just as they pass by and he catches a glimpse of her through the gap, her wide smile and rosy cheeks, shoulder pressed tightly against her groom's as they laugh their way down the aisle, into their new life.

She's happy.

He hopes he can say the same for himself someday.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. As always, your thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated. _


	2. Chapter 2

_I started this before I wrote the last chapter and had decided not to finish it but the story started eating at me earlier today and I had to get it out. This is a stand alone exploration of how Kate might handle the same situation and is completely unrelated to Castle's. _

* * *

It doesn't hurt as much now.

Walking into the precinct without him. Without his coffee in her hand and the taste of his kiss on her lips. She can ride in the elevator and not wish he was there with her, the back of his hand brushing along her thigh and a smile dancing in his eyes. The empty spot next to her old desk where his chair used to sit doesn't make her stomach ache anymore, doesn't make her lungs deflate or her heart seize. She can listen to the boys talk about him and not want to turn away, pretend she never heard his name.

Girls' nights with Lanie don't devolve into conversations about him, a tight knot in her chest as she tries to makes sense of it all. She no longer drinks too much wine and stares at her phone, fingers itching to pick it up and scroll through her contacts until she finds his name, fantasies of a torrid reunion playing across her mind. She doesn't wake up crying anymore, the echo of his hands skimming over her body, making her shiver.

Missing him has become second nature, something she can push away and ignore. A dull ache somewhere in the bottom of her chest that she can numb with too much work and not enough sleep. Her thoughts are no longer consumed by him.

She wishes the same was true for her heart.

His words still echo in her ears all these years later. It wasn't enough. The physical distance had been erased by his move to DC but the emotional chasm only continued to grow. He couldn't continue to put himself through it, couldn't just be the warm body in her bed when she dragged herself home after three weeks on a case. Couldn't be an afterthought. He had to go. Had to allow himself the opportunity to be happy again and he couldn't do that with her. Not anymore.

He refused to take the ring back.

She remembers that last time he said he loved her. Remembers the tears in his eyes and the quiver in his voice. He held her while she cried, his lips pressed to her temple as he rocked her back and forth on the bed that was no longer theirs. She kissed him, tried to show him with her body how she felt, how she wanted and needed him. Gently, so very gently, he pried her away and stood, pain that she wishes she could forget written into the lines of his face. She didn't hear the click of the front door over the sound of her heart breaking.

Four days later, she'd come home and found it all gone. His books and his clothes, his computer and his toys. He took the photos of his family from his office, left the one of them. It was her favorite, a candid shot taken by Ryan late one night at the Haunt. They weren't even together yet but it was all there, written on both of their faces as he smiled at her around the top of his tumbler. The desire, the joy, the love. She sat on the couch for an hour, tracing her fingers along the glossy image of his smile, trying to remember the last time she saw it. The last time he looked at her like she was everything he'd ever wanted. The last time he'd been happy. The tears came when she realized that she couldn't.

She moved back to New York a year later. The federal job had been an amazing experience, something she would always be proud of, but it wasn't for her. It wasn't her passion, it wasn't where she was supposed to be. In her heart, she always knew; she's a cop, not a special agent. She needed to come home, even if home wasn't with him anymore.

They don't speak. She hasn't heard his voice in almost two years. Not since the night she showed up on his doorstep, alcohol on her breath and his book in her hands. Wordlessly, she'd handed him her copy and walked away. His quiet apology was almost lost to the chime of the elevator.

He gave Nikki and Rook everything they'd never have; a partnership, a marriage, a future. She wishes she could hate him for it. Wishes she could have clung to the anger she'd felt when she'd finished the last chapter of their story. But she doesn't hate him. She can't. Not for this. He let it go, let them go, the only way he knew how. And she'll never admit it but there's a part of her that is grateful to him for it.

Grateful that she can close her eyes and pretend it's them.

She sent a note when his first James Bond novel was published.

He sent flowers when she made lieutenant

She took vacation the week he got married. Spent eight days at the cabin, walking through the woods, trying to find her peace. Trying not to think. Not to think about how it should have been her, how she should be the one walking down an aisle toward him. Trying not to imagine how he would have looked at her, his eyes bright and misty as he took her hand from her father's and promised her forever.

She finally let herself cry on the last night, her body curled into a tight ball on the bare mattress as she sobbed. For her. For them. For everything she wanted but would never have.

It doesn't hurt as much now.

She wishes it didn't hurt at all.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. Your thoughts and comments are always appreciated. _


End file.
